


And Then You Give Me My Life Back

by Once_More_With_Feeling



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Enemies to Friends, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Recovery, Sister-Sister Relationship, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:43:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_More_With_Feeling/pseuds/Once_More_With_Feeling
Summary: We all know Lady Mary Crawley is a good person. Mostly. She just has a difficult time being good to her sister, Edith. This is the story of how several people in Lady Mary's life help her to be a better sister.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written much of the upstairs characters for this fandom; sometimes I forget there is an upstairs in this house. But I'm really intrigued by the similarities between Mary and Thomas, in terms of how they often lash out at others, and why. This was touched on in S6E8, and I wanted to explore it further. I decided to challenge myself somewhat by writing this from Mary's POV. I do hope you all like it!

She awoke with an immediate and terrible sense of dread. For a moment, she couldn’t remember why. Then sleep left her entirely, and she recalled. Oh, God. What she had done to Edith.

 

And there was more. Their under-butler had tried to kill himself. Yesterday. While she was busy trying to destroy her sister’s life. _Oh, God_.

 

Mary resisted the urge to pull the covers up over her head. Such an act was childish, even if no one was watching. She lay there, flat on her back, and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling she had once stared at with Matthew. Did _everything_ have to make her feel alone? She allowed herself a small groan.

 

Of course that was the moment Anna had to enter the room. Ever the faithful servant, Anna rushed to her bed, and before she put down the breakfast tray, she asked, “What is it, milady? Are you ill?” her face filled with concern.

 

Without moving, Mary turned only her eyes toward her maid. She supposed it must have looked like an eye roll, and perhaps it was. “If only,” she answered, then looked away, ashamed at her own moaning.

 

She forced herself to sit up, and dangled her legs over the edge of the bed. “Just tea for me this morning, Anna,” she said. “Please,” she added, and tried to smile.

 

***

 

Once she had drunk her tea—and ate the bit of toast Anna had practically forced upon her—and dressed, Mary walked down the stairs to find the house nearly deserted. Of course. Not even Tom would want to see her now. She felt she had to make it right with Edith, but she had gone away to London—and no wonder—so she wandered aimlessly about the first floor of the house for a time. She found herself in the dining room after a while. It was empty of course; everyone else had long since finished their breakfast and gone about their purposeful lives.

 

She sighed, and stared at the sideboard. She realized after a moment she was staring at the place where Barrow usually stood, when he served the family. He wouldn’t be there tonight. She wondered how he was; would he ever stand there again? Anna had told her he would recover, but could he bring himself to do it? To just go back to serving—lifting and carrying, with no expression on his face… A sudden sound startled Mary, as she had no idea where it had come from. Then she realized it was her own self, that she was sobbing. She walked to the side board, and placed a hand on its surface. Her other hand she brought to her mouth, and closed her eyes.

 

Tears poured down her cheeks, and she had no idea what—or whom—they were for. Probably because there were so very many options, she thought briefly and ruefully. She was alone, and terrified, and had pushed away anyone who might bring her comfort. Not that she deserved to be comforted. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and took a breath to steady herself, lest anyone should hear her and come into the room. The last thing she deserved was for Carson to come and put his arms around her again.

 

Once she was silent, she stared out the window at the bright sunny day. She supposed for a moment that some might think it odd that the weather should be in such juxtaposition to her dark and distressed mood, but Mary thought she ought to be mocked by the sun.

 

She must do something, but Edith was gone. Her thoughts turned again to Barrow. Perhaps she could do something for him. Not to cheer him, exactly, but to show him that the family was concerned. That he had their support. Yes, that was it. But what could she do?

 

She thought about the man she had known all these years, and of course she knew only a little about him. She knew about his… preferences, but everyone knew that. It occurred to her that that might have been his reason. How terrible. Enough of what caused him pain, though. What gave his life meaning?

 

Of course! She should have thought of it before. She turned on her heel, left the dining room, and walked up to the nursery.


	2. Chapter 2

She found the nursery empty, but it didn’t surprise her. It surely meant Nanny had brought the children downstairs again, to see Daisy and Mrs. Patmore. No doubt the cooks would give them a treat, and perhaps let them “help” make a cake or pie.

 

She walked back down the grand staircase, crossed the great hall, and descended the servants’ stairs to the kitchen. She was right about the children’s whereabouts, as well as about them receiving a treat. Mrs. Patmore stood at the counter, kneading some dough, and Master George, Marigold, and Sybbie sat in a row on stools opposite her, each chewing sections of orange. Daisy stood at the counter and peeled another, clearly trying to keep up with the children’s appetites.

 

“Good morning,” Mary said, greeting the children and her servants alike. Daisy and Mrs. Patmore stopped what they were doing, suddenly appearing nervous.

 

“Milady,” they said in unison. Mary smiled, though it took effort to do so.

 

“Please,” she said. “Do carry on.” They resumed their work, however reluctantly, as Mary approached her son, and lifted him from his stool.

 

“Hello, Mummy,” her boy said to her. “We’re having oranges. Mrs. Patmore got a full bushel of ‘em, and she said I can have a whole one!” he cried.

 

“Did she?” Mary answered him. “My goodness, what a treat!”

 

She saw Mrs. Patmore and Daisy smile at the child, and relax again. George had that effect on people. No wonder Barrow enjoyed his company so much. Mary couldn’t deny that holding him in her arms at a time like this was immensely comforting.

 

She walked a few steps away from the counter as she began to speak to her son. “George,” she began softly. “I need to speak to you about Mr. Barrow.”

 

She set him down on the floor now, and knelt in front of him. He looked at her with Matthew’s crystal blue eyes, waiting.

 

“He’s… he’s ill, you see,” she said, and suddenly realized she hadn’t thought about how to explain this to a child of George’s age. She couldn’t disturb him by telling him the whole truth, but she needed to be honest. “And…” she continued. “He’s also… very sad.”

 

“He’s sad?” George asked. “Why?”

 

“Well,” Mary said. “I suppose I don’t really know. But I think he would love to see you. Would you like to visit him?”

 

George nodded, and for some reason Mary looked to Mrs. Patmore for approval.

 

“That’s kind, milady,” the cook said softly. Then she turned to George. “Why don’t you take one of the oranges out of the basket, and bring one to him?”

 

“Yes, I will!” George said, and ran off to the pantry.

 

While Mary waited for her son to return, she and the cook looked at one another. Again, she found herself needing approval. She nearly spoke, and asked if Mrs. Patmore thought it a terrible invasion of his privacy, to visit him in his room, but it occurred to her suddenly that the cook might not be aware of what Thomas had done. She smiled instead, and remained silent.

 

George came running back to his mummy then, a perfect round orange in his hands. “Here it is!” he said happily. “I’m ready to visit him now!”

 

Mary took her son’s hand, and led him up the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this scene in S6E8, because George is adorable... but Thomas needs more love. So I basically kept George and his orange, and changed the rest.

She could not hide her trepidation as she and her son ascended the stairs. She second guessed herself with each step, sure one second that she should leave him alone to recuperate in peace, the next second absolutely certain he needed to know that he had the family’s backing. She pressed on through her uncertainty, though; she had told George they would visit, and she couldn’t turn back now.

 

When they reached his door, she found it ajar. She paused, though she knew George would only allow her a few seconds before he started asking questions. She realized she was simply afraid of what she might find in that room. Would he be terribly ill, and would that upset George? Would he be awake? Would he be alone?

 

The only thing to do was to enter the room, and find out. She pushed on the door, and it opened silently. What she saw inside made her stop again.

 

Thomas lay in his bed, covered in a pile of blankets, and Baxter was there with him. She sat on the bed next to him, in fact, her left arm supporting him around his shoulders. With her right hand, she held a small glass of water to his lips, helping him to drink. Though she spoke softly to him, Mary heard every word, as she stood spellbound in the doorway.

 

“A little more, Thomas,” Baxter whispered. “And then you can rest.” Her patient took a sip of the water, and she continued to encourage him. “That’s right. That’s just right, my darling. Now one more, and then we’re finished for now.”

 

He took another sip, then closed his eyes, and sank further into the curve of her arm. Carefully she laid his head down on his pillow, though she did not pull her arm from underneath his neck and shoulders. She placed the glass on his night table. From the table she picked up a handkerchief, and wiped the corners of his mouth, and his chin.

 

As she turned to replace the handkerchief on the small table, though, she suddenly caught sight of Mary and George in the doorway, and started.

 

“Milady!” she exclaimed, and tried to pull her arm free, as if to stand.

 

“Oh, please don’t get up,” Mary said suddenly, louder than she meant to. She softened her voice. “Please don’t get up, if he needs you,” she said, moving her gaze from Baxter to Barrow.

 

Baxter paused in the awkward position of half standing, half sitting on the bed. She seemed to consider her situation, then—likely because she had been given express permission to do so—sat back down next to Thomas.

 

“May we come in?” Mary asked, as a way of beginning again.

 

Baxter picked up Thomas’ bandaged hand, and held it in her own, as if to protect him. Mary wondered what the woman thought she was there to say?

 

“Of course, milady,” Baxter answered.

 

“How is he?” Mary asked, as she and George stepped further into the room.

 

“He’s, um…” Baxter began. “He’s recovering, milady, but he’s still very weak. Her Ladyship has given me permission to stay with him for the time being.”

 

“Of course,” Mary said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. George tugged on her hand then, and she suddenly remembered his presence. As Thomas appeared to be asleep, she addressed Baxter again. “Master George wanted to bring Barrow a gift,” she explained. She let go her son’s hand, and nudged him forward. “Go on, George, it’s alright.”

 

George walked up to the bed, and said softly, “Hewwo, Mr. Bawwow.” When Barrow didn’t answer, he looked back at his mother. She smiled at him, and he turned back to the man lying in the bed. He held out his orange. “Here you are to make you feel better,” he said, timidly.

 

Thomas opened his eyes then, and saw George for the first time. “Master George,” he whispered, then looked beyond the little boy. “Milady,” he said hoarsely, and lifted his head slightly, the closest he could get to standing in his lady’s presence.

 

Baxter placed her hand on his forehead, then down to the side of his face, and he sank back into his pillow. “It’s alright,” Baxter said to him, as if to ease his worry at being thought impertinent.

 

How kind she was, this woman sitting before her, Mary thought. She didn’t know everything about their relationship; families generally knew much less about their servants than servants knew about families. There was some talk, though. Mary knew they had grown up together, and Baxter thought of Thomas as quite like her own younger brother. Baxter had said as much to Mama, and Mama, thinking it quite endearing, had shared it with her husband and daughters. Though she had never said it, Mary had found that reassuring. The fact that Thomas had begun working in service at such a young age was something they did not talk about, but they all knew why. She found herself more relieved than ever to know Thomas had someone to fight his corner, if needed.

 

George continued to hold his orange at arm’s length, unsure now what to do. Thomas looked at the little boy, and Mary was sure she saw tears in the man’s eyes. When he didn’t reach out to receive his gift, though, Baxter did it for him. Thomas did manage to whisper, “Thank you very much, Master George,” as Baxter placed the orange in his hand, and curled his fingers around it.

 

Satisfied he had done right, George returned his hands to his sides and smiled. Mary suddenly felt that if her little boy could extend kindness to this man in his time of need, she herself should certainly do so as well.

 

She swallowed, and approached Thomas’ bed, and knelt beside it. Should she _touch_ him, though? She was sure that she never had. She and Thomas had lived under the same roof for fifteen years, and yet they inhabited different worlds. She had never had reason to consider his background, where he came from, or to touch him. It simply wasn’t done, and for years following rules such as these had given her comfort.

 

She thought for the hundredth time that day that she did not deserve comforting, and it steeled her. She raised her hand and very nearly placed it on his forehead, as Baxter had done, but stopped herself. It was too much, likely for him as it would have been for her. She managed to place her hand awkwardly on his shoulder instead.

 

“Steady on, Thomas,” she said, momentarily forgetting to address him by his surname, as was his due. Tears stung her eyes, and she wondered if those were the right words. They sounded like something Carson would say. She continued, though she knew what she was about to say was not hers only to decide. “I’ll speak with Papa and Carson later, but I want you to know now that you are welcome stay here, for as long as you need.

 

“First you’ll take the time you need to… recover. And then, when you’re ready, you can return to work, here. And you will stay here with us until you find a position elsewhere that suits you. For as long as that may take,” she added.

 

Thomas’ eyes grew wide. “I’m not sacked?” he asked.

 

“You are not sacked,” she answered quickly and firmly.

 

He nodded, and they held each other’s gaze for another moment, until Barrow could no longer keep his eyes open. She wondered briefly as she looked at him if they would have been friends, if the world were different, or if one or both of them had been born into different families.

 

She gave his shoulder a steady squeeze, then stood, and took George’s hand again. Baxter spoke then, as if to give her lady permission to leave. “I think he needs to rest now,” she said softly, and placed her hand again on Thomas’ forehead, giving the touch Mary had wished she had to give. With her free hand Baxter attempted to remove the orange from Thomas’ grip, but he held onto it with what strength he had.

 

“Would you like to hold it for a while?” she asked him quietly.

 

Thomas nodded again, almost imperceptibly, and Baxter lifted his covers, and laid his hand—which was secured around the orange—over his chest, then drew his blankets up around his shoulders.

 

“Thank you, Baxter,” Mary said. “Thank you for caring for him. I’m… so glad you’re here.” She hoped Baxter knew that she meant more than that she was glad she was in the room today; she was glad Baxter had come to serve their family, and to be Thomas’ friend.

 

Mary led her son from the room, and closed the door softly behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

Dinner had been another somber affair that evening, just herself and her parents, and Tom—who had yesterday called her a bully and a coward. She sat alone in the library now, drinking a whiskey and water, and thinking about how right he was.

 

When her brother-in-law appeared in the doorway she looked at him briefly, then looked at the floor, too tired now to hide the shame she felt over what she had done.

 

“Have you come to finish me off, then?” she asked him.

 

He sighed. “No,” he said quietly, and walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He walked over to where she sat, and lowered himself onto the ottoman in front of her. “Believe it or not, I came to see how you’re doing.”

 

She forced herself to look at him. “Oh, I’m just wonderful,” she answered darkly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Her attempt at a joke was too much, even for her. She began to cry, and he placed his hand over hers. “Oh, Tom,” she said as she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I hope you believe me when I say that.”

 

“I do,” he answered softly. “You’re a much better person than what you did yesterday. That’s why it upset me so much. And I’m sorry, too,” he said after a pause. “For my harsh words afterward.”

  
  
“They were nothing more than I deserved,” she said.

 

He gave her a small smile. “Maybe,” he agreed. He didn’t let go of her hand. “What will you do now?” he asked.

 

It was her turn to sigh. “It’s funny, I can’t stop thinking about Sybil,” she said.

 

“Why is that funny?” he asked. “I can never stop thinking about Sybil.”

 

She smiled genuinely. “I know… But what I mean is, I can’t stop wondering why it was so easy for me to love one sister, and… not the other. What has Edith ever really done to me? That I didn’t deserve?”

 

“You’re rather hard on yourself,” Tom said gently.

 

“Maybe. But I think I ought to be. Everything would be so much easier if I could like Edith half as much as I adored Sybil… If I share something with you, will you keep it to yourself?”

 

“Of course,” he promised.

 

“Have you… heard about Barrow?” she asked him.

 

His face grew dark. “I have,” he said. “Your father told me. It’s terribly sad.”

 

“Yes,” she agreed. “He’s going to come around, I’m told, but that’s not all I meant to say. I took George to see him today.”

  
  
Tom looked slightly surprised. “That was kind. Very kind of both of you.”

  
  
“I hope so,” she said. “Only… when we went up there, Baxter was with him.”

  
  
Tom nodded solemnly. “I’m glad to know he wasn’t alone.”

  
  
“Yes, of course,” she said, growing somewhat impatient. “But… she…” Why couldn’t she just say it? “The way she was caring for him. She was so tender, and protective… I think she thought I had come up there to sack him! And I daresay if I had, she’d have gone with him!”

 

“She must really love him,” he said.

 

She was becoming exasperated now. She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “Yes! Yes, clearly. And… she made me feel so ashamed.”

 

“Ashamed?” Tom asked. “Why?”

 

“Because she’s not even his real sister!” Mary cried, and her tears began to fall again.

 

Tom looked down for a moment, and nodded, finally understanding the connection Mary was drawing. He set his drink on the floor, then gently took her glass from her, and set it on the carpet as well. Then he took both her hands in both of his.  

 

“Just as you are not my real sister,” he said. “But you have grown to love me, and you can grow to love others, if you choose to.”

  
  
“Do you think so?” she asked. “I would like to think I could, but I just can’t believe that’s true.”

 

Tom steadied himself. “I know better than anyone in this world, how capable you are of growing to love someone.”

 

He smiled then, and she couldn’t help herself from returning it. Maybe he was right.

 

“And it might help if you remembered that you didn’t love Sybil because she was your sister. You loved her because she was wonderful, and because she was here for you to love. Maybe you ought to stop trying to love Edith because she’s your sister. Might you try loving her because she’s here?”

 

Mary paused to consider his words.

 

“And it may surprise you,” Tom continued softly. “But she can be quite wonderful, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mary tried to believe Tom’s words that night, and she knew she needed to do something, but she couldn’t think what. And then Henry showed up, and she came to her senses about him, thank goodness… Edith came home for the wedding, proving again that she was the better person. Mary’s instinct was to tear Edith down again, but she stopped herself. At least she wasn’t making it worse. But she knew that wasn’t enough.

 

The months wore on, and she and Edith settled into a new habit of tolerating each other. Mary didn’t think herself loving, or kind, but at least she wasn’t unkind. Perhaps Edith was right. Maybe she was only nicer now that she was happy.

 

One crisp, sunny afternoon in September, while Henry and Tom were away in London, Mary decided to go for a walk. She had thought to take George with her, but she didn’t know how far she would end up going, and it might have been further than George could manage. She walked alone on the estate grounds, and found herself crossing the stone bridge over the creek. She and Henry had sat there together last week, while the family had taken luncheon outside. She sat down on the stone ledge, alone this time, and thought of Henry.

 

She was pulled from her thoughts, though, by a figure that approached from near the house. She looked up, surprised to see Barrow walking toward her. Despite the sunny weather, he wore his wool coat, and had a soft blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He had a walking stick with him; she had noticed he carried it with him now, whenever he ventured further than the courtyard outside the servants’ entrance of the abbey.

 

He slowed as he approached her, and greeted her. “Milady. Good afternoon,” he said.

 

“Hello, Barrow,” she answered. They regarded each other for a second before she spoke again. “I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’ve been getting on.”

 

He looked down a moment. “I’m well, milady. Been back to work a couple of months now.”

 

“Yes, I know,” she said sincerely. “We’re so glad to see you… back on your feet. Only I wondered, if you don’t mind my asking… how are you feeling?”

 

He smiled slightly. “As I said, I’m well, milady.”

 

She smiled now, understanding. He was so well trained. He would never reveal anything personal to his employer. And yet… something at the back of her mind urged her to try again.

 

“Well, that’s good,” she said. She glanced at his cane. “Would you sit for a bit?” she asked, nodding toward the ledge she sat on.

 

He gave her another small smile. “I shouldn’t,” he answered.

 

She looked at his walking stick more plainly this time. “Yes, you should,” she said, and raised her eyebrows.

 

This time he couldn’t stop himself from snickering. He looked away again, as if to see whether anyone was watching. “Alright,” he said. “If you insist.”

 

He leaned his stick against the stone ledge, and sat down, a few feet from her.

 

She glanced at him, and for some reason was reminded again of her mother’s maid, and the man’s relationship with her. She felt envy rising again in her, but sought rather to understand her feelings, than to lash out with them.

 

“Baxter certainly is devoted to you,” she began, tentatively. “Was she... very helpful to you, when…” she trailed off. Speaking about someone else seemed to be the ticket to getting him to open up, though.

 

“She was, yes,” he answered. “She’s my dear friend, and I’m lucky to have her. But… it’s not just that that helped me to get better.”

 

“What else?” she asked, curious now.

 

He sighed. “Before I…” now he stopped midsentence. She wondered if he couldn’t bring himself to say the words at all, or just not to her. He continued. “Before, some people were unkind to me. They were. And I’m afraid Mr. Carson was the worst of them at times. But plenty of others were kind, and I couldn’t see it. Or if I could, I couldn’t let it in. And that was because of me.”

 

He stopped for a moment, probably considering whether he ought to continue revealing so much to someone of her station. He had come this far, though, and he was already sitting in her presence, so perhaps he thought he might as well.

 

“I had to learn to change how I saw kindness. I always used to mistake it for pity, and I rejected offers of friendship because of that mistake.” He shook his head. “I’m different now, though. Or trying to be.” He looked at her pointedly.

 

She smiled sadly, sensing that he knew that they had more in common than she had ever said.

 

“Kindness did help, milady. Miss Baxter, Mrs. Hughes, Anna, Andrew, your entire family. Everyone has been so kind to me. And it turned out all I had to do was let it in.”

 

She nodded, and considered his words. She tilted her head to the side and asked, not unkindly, “Isn’t it a bit warm for a coat and scarf?”

 

He avoided looking at her, and gazed out over the grounds, at the sun shining on the trees and grass. “I’ve had a bit of trouble keeping warm lately,” he said.

 

 _Still?_ she thought to herself. “It is a lovely scarf. Where did you get it?”

 

Now he looked at her. “Anna gave it to me,” he said. “She made it for me.”

 

If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked a little smug about it. She smiled, a little surprised. “Did she? When?”

 

He pulled his watch from his pocket and looked at it. “Oh, about a quarter of an hour ago.”

 

They smirked at each other, and she was struck again by how alike they were. “Well, that was sweet of her,” Mary said. “It is a nice shade. Brings out your eyes.”

 

He nodded, and smiled again. “That’s exactly what she told me. And it’s funny—it keeps me warm, too.” He stood then, and reclaimed his walking stick. “Now if you’ll excuse me, milady, I’ve a letter to post.”

 

He took a step or two away from her, then stopped and turned again to face her. He brushed the tips of his fingers over his new scarf as he spoke. “Sometimes, if you want to do something for someone, if you want to give them something, all you need to do is pay attention.”

 

He doffed his hat to her then, and she couldn’t be sure, but he may have winked, just as he turned and went on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write! I love Mary and Thomas together... I hope you all like it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Lady Edith finally shows up, and--in true Edith form--gets to be happy at the bitter end! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting! I hope you like my ending.

So, Barrow had been cold, and Anna had made him a scarf. Simple enough. He had been lost in loneliness and despair, though, and Baxter—and several others, she had been told—had saved him and nursed him until he could care for himself again. Not exactly simple, but certainly an example worth emanating.

 

She needed to make it up to Edith—not just for destroying her chances at a happy life, but for all she had done. Tom had assured her she could grow to love Edith if she chose to, and Barrow had essentially told her that if she wanted to do something kind for her sister, all she had to do was pay attention.

 

So, what did Edith need? She needed Marigold, but she had her already. As much as she could have her, anyway. She had wanted to get married, but everyone knew how that had turned out. The girl had been jilted, twice now. She couldn’t exactly conjure another marquis, or even another land agent, for Edith to run off with, so she would have to pay attention, and try to think of something else.

 

***

 

Oddly enough, it was Granny that clarified what Edith needed. Or rather, who needed Edith.

 

She and Papa had gone to tea at the dower house one afternoon while Mama was away at the hospital, and Granny said something rather striking, though she had meant it only in passing.

 

“It’s such a waste, for both of them,” she had said, when Papa told her again, that Bertie—or rather, Lord Hexham—had rather painted himself into a corner, and had not reconsidered his decision to leave Edith.

 

A waste. For _both_ of them. Of course… Mary knew Edith had loved Bertie, and wanted to marry him, though she hadn’t necessarily thought of Edith’s life as wasted without him. What she had never considered until that moment was that Bertie loved and needed Edith. He needed her to be his wife, as much as Edith needed him to be her husband. They deserved each other’s love, and their lives _were_ currently being wasted, and would continue to be until they were reunited.

 

Mary shook herself from her revelation when Granny asked what she was thinking of. “It’s just an idea you’ve given me, that’s all,” she said dismissively. “Nothing to trouble you with.”

 

Mary tried to listen to her grandmother during tea, but her mind kept being dragged away, to her sudden new idea. When it was finally time to go, she hurriedly kissed Granny goodbye and all but pushed Papa outside and into the waiting car. She felt suddenly very anxious to get home. She had a telephone call to make.

 

***

 

It was easier to arrange than she had thought. Aunt Rosamund was so keen to help; she sounded as though she wished she had thought of it herself. She even offered to write to Bertie (helpful, as he would probably throw away unopened any missive he received from Lady Mary Crawley), and ask—beg, if necessary—him to come to the Ritz for dinner, while Edith just happened to be in London. Mary wished she could be a fly on the wall at the restaurant when the two saw each other again, but she knew she had better stay home and wait.

 

***

 

When Edith returned from her triumphant visit to London, Mary found herself genuinely excited to see her sister, and speak with her about her upcoming wedding. It was just the same as when she gave someone a gift to open; she wanted to be there to watch, to see the reaction of the person she was giving to.

 

She and Tom stood on the gravel in front of the house, and waited for their sister to climb out of the car.

 

“When is the wedding?” Tom asked, with a smile.

 

Christmas, she told them. Or New Year’s Eve, when the decorations were still up. How merry that would be. Mary smiled, happy for her sister for the first time since she could remember.

 

Mary would have brought it up herself, but Edith surprised her by speaking out first. “I know you made it all happen,” she said. She knew Mary had been the one to ring Aunt Rosamund, and arrange the meeting with Bertie at the Ritz. Mary felt of flicker of annoyance inside herself; she wished Aunt Rosamund had let her tell Edith… but no matter.

 

“I was never convinced it was over,” Mary said coolly, pushing down her irritation and trying to remember why she had done it in the first place. This, of course, was Edith’s next question.

 

_Because I’m trying to love you. Because I want you to be happy. And not just because I’m happy, but because you deserve it, and so does Bertie._

 

What came out of her mouth, however, sounded much more like, “Look, we’re blood, and we’re stuck with it. So let’s try and do a little better in future.”

 

_Bollocks._

 

Edith pointed out what a paradox she was. “You make me miserable for years, and then you give me my life back.”

 

Yes. Hopefully this was no paradox, though; only a new beginning.

 

***

 

In an attempt to make doing better in future start as soon as possible, Mary went to see Edith in her room that evening, after she had finished dressing for dinner.

 

Barrow’s words echoed in her mind as she walked down the hall. _Kindness did help. And it turned out all I had to do was let it in._ She hoped that after all this time, Edith would let her in.

 

She knocked on the door, pushed it open, and peeked inside. Edith sat at her dressing table, and turned around when the door opened.

 

“Yes?” she asked. Mary took that as an invitation to enter, and stepped into the room.

 

“How are you getting on?” Mary asked.

 

Edith looked mildly amused. “With what?” she asked.

 

Mary gave her a tiny eye roll. “Oh, I don’t know. With your hair, I suppose.”

 

Edith laughed lightly. “Actually, since you mention it, not very well at the moment,” she said, and turned back to her mirror.

 

“Oh?” Mary asked. “Would you… like some help?” Mary never had been able to figure out how Edith had managed all these years without a maid. Especially with her hair still long.

 

Edith looked at Mary’s reflection in the mirror, and raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean… from you?” she asked.

 

Mary smiled, rather than sighing, as she felt like doing. “I do watch Anna when she does mine,” she said pointedly. “Or at least I did, when my hair was long.”

 

She approached Edith from behind, and pulled the diamond star from where it was stuck in her sister’s hair. She placed it on the dressing table for the time being.

 

“You see, the star goes at the back, above the chignon, and you’ve got it tilted,” she said softly. She picked up her sister’s brush and carefully moved it through her golden waves. “You’ve such pretty hair, Edith,” she said genuinely.

 

Mary was so focused on her sister’s tresses that she didn’t notice the look Edith was giving her in the mirror. “You don’t… think I should have it bobbed?”

 

“Oh, no!” Mary said quickly, and she meant it. She caught her sister’s eye in the mirror, and smiled softly. “It’s so beautiful, the way it is.” She looked back to her work then, and finished pinning her hair. She reclaimed the diamond star from the dressing table, and placed it at the back of Edith’s head, where it belonged.

 

“There,” she said, and gave her sister’s hair one last affectionate pat. “You’re perfect now.” As she said it, Mary was suddenly and unexpectedly overwhelmed with the hope that one day, she and Henry would have a daughter.

 

Edith turned on her stool again, and looked up at her elder sister. Mary felt her eyes soften, and she moved away momentarily, to pull up a chair. She lowered herself into it, so they sat knee to knee, and eye to eye.

 

“Edith,” she began. “I’m… sorry if I sounded a bit harsh when you first arrived home this afternoon. I meant it, though, when I said I hoped we could do better in future. And… I hope you can forgive me, for telling Bertie about Marigold, and for…”

 

“For trying to ruin my life?” Edith supplied.

 

Mary swallowed. “Yes. For trying to hurt you in the worst way. I hope you believe me when I tell you I don’t want to be that way anymore. Truly.”

 

Edith smiled. “I believe you. And I do forgive you.” She paused. “And for my part, I know it’s dreadfully late, but I’m sorry about all that business with the Turkish diplomat.”

 

Mary stifled a laugh. “You know, it’s amazing. No man alive has caused me near as much trouble as that dead one has.”

 

Now Edith laughed out loud. “Good to know we can joke about it,” she said.

 

Mary smiled back at her, a bit sadly. “I suppose we could go on all night, apologizing to each other for all we’ve done over the years.”

 

Her sister nodded. “But let’s not,” Edith said. “Let’s just go down to dinner, and make a go of being friends.”

 

Mary was pleased. “Let’s,” she said, and stood from her chair.

 

Edith stood also, and checked her hair in the mirror one last time. “It does look nice,” she said to her reflection. She turned now to face her sister. “Thank you for that.”

 

“Of course,” Mary said, as they left the room together. They descended the grand staircase side by side, and approached the drawing room. Just as Barrow opened the door for them, though, Edith stopped.

 

“Mary,” she said. “Wait.” Mary turned and faced her sister again. Edith drew a breath. “I need to thank you for more than just…” she trailed off as she touched her hair. She looked into Mary’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said firmly. “For Bertie. For my family. Thank you for giving me my life back.”

 

Mary leaned in and kissed her sister’s cheek. “You’re so welcome,” she murmured. Edith gave her a teary smile, and turned and walked into the drawing room.

 

As she passed him, Mary thought of winking at Thomas, as he had her a few days prior, but she settled for arching her eyebrows instead. She had to admit she enjoyed watching him try not to smile when she did it.

 

 _There will be many more gifts from me to come,_ she thought to herself. _All I have to do is pay attention._


End file.
